“that’s more or less it. ’Tis my private belief that Mystra is not a foolish misjudger of mortals so much as she’s heartily sick of the way some powerful and long-lived mages have been behaving, and wants them to cooperate—or, yes, kill each other. Their choice.”
Mirt shook his head. “The goddess of magic giving foolheaded wizards a choice ?”
“ ’Tis what she’s always done,” El said softly. “The way forward for mortals to flourish is to choose freely, for good or ill, not be slaves to any deity.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard priests say as much many times down the years,” Mirt sighed, then squinted hard at Elminster and growled, “She really thinks they’ll behave reasonably, and even reach some accord, or even trust?”
“She really hopes ,” El replied.
Mirt rolled his eyes. “Madness.” And then he grinned and leaned forward across the table and declared, “But I’m in. Despite the fool-headed danger.” He studied Elminster’s face and added, “As you knew I would be. That stone face of yours is anything but.”
“Thy boredom,” Elminster replied gently, “is apparent to all. Yet it’s good to find thee willing.”
Mirt shrugged, drank deeply again, and set down the tankard with the thunk of mostly emptied metal. “I want to be alive again, part of ‘important doings’ once more. But I’ll need a little more in the way of payment.”
El arched an eyebrow. “No knighthoods, now. Or country mansions. Unless Halaunt’s somewhat decayed manor survives our little get-together; if so, I’d not be surprised if I could convince the Crown of Cormyr to gift it to ye.”
Mirt waved a dismissive hand. “Nay, nay, nothing like that. Just some truths from you, to satisfy my curiosity. How Alusair came to be a ghost, how Vangerdahast went from being a dragon to a spider-thing and then a man again, and how Myrmeen Lhal went from being a dragon, back to human form—and not a wrinkled old totterer, either.”
Elminster nodded. “That I can do, in brief. The deeper details—the decisions each made, to result in their transformations—are for them to divulge, not me.”
“Fair enough. Say on.”
“So … Alusair died, as all mortals must. Died while in disagreement with her nephew the king—the fifth Azoun. Not over his policies, but over his mishandling of their implementation, which she saw as having deepened divisions between the realm and its nobles and hastened the death of her mother, Filfaeril. There were other, deeper reasons for their quarrel, but those remain matters of state.”
Mirt nodded acceptance, but waved at El to continue.
He obliged. “So Alusair died, ye might say, in the saddle, still riding the border wilderlands of the realm she loved, defending it against beasts and brigands. I happen to know more than a dozen invasions of Cormyr planned by greedy and wealthy Sembian citizens were canceled because of how well-known her tireless vigilance became. Alusair died unreconciled, feeling her duty to defend was unfinished and passed on to no competent replacement, so she lingers yet.”
“As a ghost.”
“As a ghost, defending Cormyr in ways not even the current Royal Magician and Obarskyrs fully know. Already accomplished at taking down Zhentarim, Thayan, and Sembian spies, she got very good at felling Thultanthan spies and agents undetected, so they simply vanished withouttrace—dozens of them, over the years. That worried Telamont Tanthul so much, it bought Cormyr decades more of peace.”
Mirt nodded. “And Vangerdahast the Mighty?”
El smiled. “A term of mockery in Waterdeep in thy day, as I recall. The man ye so labeled was one apprentice of mine who did very well for himself. When he finally tired of being Mage Royal—long after the realm had tired of him—he willingly bound himself in stasis as a dragon, with the song dragon Ammaratha Cyndusk at his side, also out of love for Cormyr. He awaited his awakening to defend the kingdom in a
Mirt shook his head. “The goddess of magic giving foolheaded wizards a choice ?”
“ ’Tis what she’s always done,” El said softly. “The way forward for mortals to flourish is to choose freely, for good or ill, not be slaves to any deity.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard priests say as much many times down the years,” Mirt sighed, then squinted hard at Elminster and growled, “She really thinks they’ll behave reasonably, and even reach some accord, or even trust?”
“She really hopes ,” El replied.
Mirt rolled his eyes. “Madness.” And then he grinned and leaned forward across the table and declared, “But I’m in. Despite the fool-headed danger.” He studied Elminster’s face and added, “As you knew I would be. That stone face of yours is anything but.”
“Thy boredom,” Elminster replied gently, “is apparent to all. Yet it’s good to find thee willing.”
Mirt shrugged, drank deeply again, and set down the tankard with the thunk of mostly emptied metal. “I want to be alive again, part of ‘important doings’ once more. But I’ll need a little more in the way of payment.”
El arched an eyebrow. “No knighthoods, now. Or country mansions. Unless Halaunt’s somewhat decayed manor survives our little get-together; if so, I’d not be surprised if I could convince the Crown of Cormyr to gift it to ye.”
Mirt waved a dismissive hand. “Nay, nay, nothing like that. Just some truths from you, to satisfy my curiosity. How Alusair came to be a ghost, how Vangerdahast went from being a dragon to a spider-thing and then a man again, and how Myrmeen Lhal went from being a dragon, back to human form—and not a wrinkled old totterer, either.”
Elminster nodded. “That I can do, in brief. The deeper details—the decisions each made, to result in their transformations—are for them to divulge, not me.”
“Fair enough. Say on.”
“So … Alusair died, as all mortals must. Died while in disagreement with her nephew the king—the fifth Azoun. Not over his policies, but over his mishandling of their implementation, which she saw as having deepened divisions between the realm and its nobles and hastened the death of her mother, Filfaeril. There were other, deeper reasons for their quarrel, but those remain matters of state.”
Mirt nodded acceptance, but waved at El to continue.
He obliged. “So Alusair died, ye might say, in the saddle, still riding the border wilderlands of the realm she loved, defending it against beasts and brigands. I happen to know more than a dozen invasions of Cormyr planned by greedy and wealthy Sembian citizens were canceled because of how well-known her tireless vigilance became. Alusair died unreconciled, feeling her duty to defend was unfinished and passed on to no competent replacement, so she lingers yet.”
“As a ghost.”
“As a ghost, defending Cormyr in ways not even the current Royal Magician and Obarskyrs fully know. Already accomplished at taking down Zhentarim, Thayan, and Sembian spies, she got very good at felling Thultanthan spies and agents undetected, so they simply vanished withouttrace—dozens of them, over the years. That worried Telamont Tanthul so much, it bought Cormyr decades more of peace.”
Mirt nodded. “And Vangerdahast the Mighty?”
El smiled. “A term of mockery in Waterdeep in thy day, as I recall. The man ye so labeled was one apprentice of mine who did very well for himself. When he finally tired of being Mage Royal—long after the realm had tired of him—he willingly bound himself in stasis as a dragon, with the song dragon Ammaratha Cyndusk at his side, also out of love for Cormyr. He awaited his awakening to defend the kingdom in a
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